


the stones you've swallowed in your sleep

by hicsvntdracones



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas Stars, Dreamwalker, M/M, Mysticism, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hicsvntdracones/pseuds/hicsvntdracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"—breathe in. You can control the dream—"</p><p>[Their dreams stopped years ago, but then Jamie dreamt of Tyler and nothing was the same.]  **updated tags 09/23</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this verse is based on the concept of dream walking and lucid dreaming. more of the dream mechanics and whatnot will be explained in later chapters, but basically the benn family has this ability/curse, and jamie enters tyler's (and various others') dreams. there's a lot of codependency between the benn brothers before and after tyler enters their lives, and also some wild dream shenanigans happen on occasion in between the weird mystical, symbolic shit.
> 
> title of the work is from "a thousand paper cranes" by shinji moon. 
> 
>  
> 
> _let me hold your hand, your skin, / the stones you’ve swallowed in your sleep. /_  
>  let me slip your soul out of your skin / so you can sleep in my palms for tonight.

 

 

When he's seventeen, the dreams return. Jordie is the one who manages to wake him up, and later, Jamie thinks about how Jordie claimed his own dreams had gone away. You'll grow out of it too, he promised Jamie when they were eleven and thirteen respectively.  

 

His mother's arm is around Jenny's thin shoulders. His father looks on the verge of tears. 

 

He curls into Jordie's touch and tries to remember how to breathe. 

 

 

 

Jordie wordlessly follows him to the rink the next morning with bags under their eyes and skates in hand. The feeling of gliding along the ice, blades cutting smooth lines, calms him more than anything else. It always has, Jamie thinks, ever since he first stepped onto the ice, tumbling after his brother whose laugh echoed in the air. The ice calms him, exhilarates him, completes him. When his knees ache after so much skating and shot practice, he finally talks. 

 

"I was on the ice." 

 

Jordie looks over at him with an even stare. Jamie knows his dreams never left. Maybe he just learned how to control them. 

 

"What happened?" 

 

Jamie is quiet as he stares down at his half-unlaced skates.  

 

"I was just skating. It was dark out, and all I could think about was Yzerman's retirement." 

 

"Yzerman?" His brother lets out a quiet laugh as he kneels in front of Jamie to helpfully finish unlacing his skates and offer him his sneakers. Yzerman wasn't Jamie's favorite player, but he was one of the greats of the time, and Jamie remembers the press conference where he announced.  

 

As they walk home from the rink, Jamie reaches for Jordie's hand and smiles faintly when Jordie squeezes back. 

 

 

 

Jenny is on a date, Jordie has a party, and his mother is at book club. He and his father eat dinner in front of the TV, and the news provide a nice white noise for Jamie. 

 

"I know you're confused." His father says. His voice is so soft in that moment that Jamie barely even registers it in his head. Looking over at his father, Jamie remembers his expression a few nights ago, and his stomach curls in shame and, yes, confusion. 

 

"They'll go away one day." His father's gaze doesn't leave the TV screen, but Jamie sees his grip tighten on the arms of the recliner. "One day, you'll be okay." 

 

Dinner seems less appealing then. But for his father's sake, he cleans his plate and doesn't flee the room until Jenny gets home an hour later. 

 

 

 

Blessedly, Jenny never had the dreams. Not like he and Jordie do. When she's stressed, she says, she dreams and is ever aware. 

 

"I know it's a dream, and I know it's not real … but that doesn't make it any easier to wake up." She explains in gentle tones as she wipes off her makeup and cleans her face in the bathroom sink. Jamie sits on the edge of the bathtub and avoids her gaze. When she's back to her skincare routine, Jamie glances up and catches sight of the darkness under her eyes as well. 

 

"It scares me. It scares Jordie too." There is a silent permission in the air that Jamie too is allowed to be scared. _It's normal_ , he hears her say in the silences between them. It is a comforting silence though, and Jamie mumbles thank you that night before they go to bed. 

 

 

 

Nothing happens for a few weeks and for that time, Jamie sleeps well. He goes to school, plays hockey, hears rumors about scouts, and overall manages some semblance of normalcy. A few new video games pleasantly distract Jamie and one Saturday night, he dozes off with his head on Jordie's shoulder in the middle of some quest he's trying for the umpteenth time. 

 

"Fuck—"  

 

He feels hands cupping his face, a warm breath against his lips. His body jerks up against the touch and feels hot all over when they kiss. There's a scratch of stubble across his chin, and his mouth falls open in a moan to let the other deepen the kiss. He tries to open his eyes, but it's too dark and his head is spinning. 

 

He feels the hands roam elsewhere, 

 

" _Jamie—!!_ " 

 

Jordie's brown eyes are so wide with worry, and that alone snaps Jamie out of his daze. He still feels his blood burning and realizing this, he shoves away from Jordie and scrambles to the bathroom. Jordie tries the door, but Jamie made sure to lock it before curling up under the cold shower spray, still fully clothed. 

 

"Jamie, please, it's okay—" His hands fly to his ears as he lets out a strangled sort of noise. It's not okay, he wants to sob. It's not okay. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still figuring out the logistics of the dreams, but oh well. shit gets weird and fantastical.
> 
> mention of patrick kane at the very beginning during the 2007 entry draft.

 

 

  
The Hawks pick Patrick Kane. He looks so eager as he hugs his family, smiles wide for all the crowd to see. Top prospect, first pick. Jamie throws the remote at the television screen.

He can practically hear his mother getting ready to nag at him, but she just casts a wayward glance at her youngest son before standing to go fetch it herself. He thinks briefly that he hates Patrick Kane. He knows it's an irrational thought, knows the kid has probably never done anything to warrant such a vicious remark, but all Jamie wants to do is sock that smile off his face for good. First pick.

He shoves a bit at Jordie when he sits in the barely big enough space next to him. He's grown quite a bit in the past year if his aching limbs are any proof, and sometimes, god, he just wants to shove Jordie. He just carries on so easily, so seemingly unencumbered. What a sham, he grumbles as he moves to the far side of the couch away from his brother. Unfazed — unencumbered, Jamie remembers looking up the word after school the other day — Jordie just stretches his legs out and flings his arm across the back of the couch. He offers his snack to Jamie who curls in on himself a bit.

The Flyers pick James van Riemsdyk, and Jamie's stomach aches.

What a nice thing, to play for one of the bigger junior teams. Chicago must have had scouts up in Ontario often, watching their favorite Knight. Philadelphia must have sent people to New Hampshire too. He watches Van Riemsdyk don the Flyers jersey and thinks, who would come all the way to Victoria just for a kid like me?

His mother tries to remind him sweetly of the scout who saw him a few months back. Apparently, his brother-in-law was one of the Grizzlies' employees, but such a thing didn't feel like it would make any difference.

"There's a guy in Coquitlam ranked in the top three, there's another in Merritt ranked seventy-fifth overall. I'm not even top one hundred." Someone had sent him the link to the Red Line Report where they didn't even rank him top 300. He felt like snapping his stick in half that day.

The guy from Coquitlam — Kyle Turris — gets picked by the Coyotes.

 

When his mother presses a warm cup of tea into his hands, Jamie doesn't dare reject it. He inhales camomile and mint and feels himself sink further into the couch. Jordie leans up to kiss their mother's cheek after she hands him a cup as well. The first day of the draft had finished, and no phone call came. Part of Jamie chides himself for getting his hopes up. He wasn't ranked high, he should've know better. The soft tones of the nightly news calm the nerves that had been buzzing inside of him all day. He finishes his tea and mumbles thanks to their mother as he makes his way upstairs to bed. She's the only one who dares wish him a good night, and Jamie ignores the sounds of his brother following a few steps back.

He changes into loose flannel pants and a worn t-shirt. He touches the ridiculous design of the Victoria Salsas and thinks distantly that this shirt is a size too big and must be Jordie's old tee. Curling up under his quilted comforter, Jamie wills himself to sleep before the nerves can come rushing back to him, swarming and suffocating like they'd been for weeks.

 

Blue jerseys swarm the ice, and a roar tears through the entire arena. Jamie's voice is rough from cheering, but he can't find it in himself to mind. The game goes by in a flash, and the Canucks win by a landslide. Jamie barely remembers their opponent, only the incredible way everyone had played. Naslund's name is on everyone's tongue as they raise their sticks high in celebration. A hatty, Jamie recalls in absolute awe.

"Pretty badass, eh?" Jamie turns to see Jordie slide back into the seat next to him, a tall coke in one hand and a plate of nachos in the other. He plucks a chip from the plate and something in the back of his mind questions if Jordie had been there the entire time.

The Sedin twins laugh out on center ice, catching Jamie's eye.

"Do you think we'll ever be like that? Playing for the same team, scoring together?"

Jordie's seat squeaks as he leans back, propping his feet up on the glass as casual as can be. He doesn't remember sitting on the plaza level, definitely not on the ice.

"It'd be nice, I guess," Jordie says with a distant smile as he watches Henrik pass the puck to his twin. The only sound is their skates sliding across the ice, the sharp hit of sticks against the puck. "Wherever you go, I'd like to be there too."

He listens to the soft murmurs of Swedish that barely reach his ears.

"I'll be lucky to ever play in the NHL," His laugh, normally a welcome sound, is harsh on Jamie's ears. It is self-deprecating and a bit sad. "You're the one who will be fought over in a few years. Jamie Benn, rising star." He waves his hand in front of them to be dramatic, and Jamie can almost see himself in the blue jersey standing between the Sedin twins, stick in hand.

"You can see it, can't you? First line, center star. Crouched in the faceoff circle, crowd going wild."

It's just a flash, just a flash and then it's gone, but Jamie sees the puck in the linesman's hand, feels his opponent butt their helmets together and chirp at him. He hears his name, gaze flickering to the side to catch sight of a swarm of green—

Jamie exhales,

"I wouldn't care if the Flyers drafted me if it meant getting to play." Jordie's laugh fills the arena, but the Sedin twins don't even flinch. He wraps a warm arm around Jamie's shoulder and squeezes.

"With their shitshow season? You deserve better, Jame." The numbers 33 and 22 dance across the ice with a grace and strength Jamie longs for. The Canucks, then, he says.

"It'd be nice to stay near to home, play for the Salmon Kings for a bit maybe. Move up to the Canucks after a few years."

"What about the Comets?"

"New York seems far." He drops his head to look at his hands, thumb brushing over the calluses built up there.

"Oh, but Alaska isn't?" When he looks up at Jordie, he's got his skates laced up, and they're standing in Bear Mountain Arena waiting for practice to start. Jamie moves, feels the ice being cut beneath him. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut, and he frowns.

"You'll be there, Jor."

The roaring comes back, the swarm of green and their chants swallow up Jordie's next words, and all Jamie can see is the ghost of a smile on his brother's lips before—

 

He doesn't realize he's yelling until he feels his throat croak, and then he's coughing before the memory is able to become clear once again. Sunlight pours in through his shades, and his alarm clock is blaring. He slams the snooze button harshly, and croaks out Jordie's name weakly. The Salsa shirt is damp with night sweat, his skin clammy.

His head pulses, painfully.

"Jordie!" He half-sobs, knowing, knowing he will hear from his room. Their entire house is probably awake by this point. His door slams open, and the expression his brother wears tells all. Jamie snarls, launching himself at Jordie,

"You fucking liar—"

 

When he walks back into the room, phone in hand, call ended, Jordie is sitting on the kitchen counter, their mother is pacing, and their father is watching, expectant. Jordie moves the bag of peas away from his eye as Jamie speaks, voice tight.

"That was, um. … um, was Doug Armstrong. From Dallas."

Their mother flings her arms around his neck and kisses Jamie's cheek with a happy cry. Their father joins almost a moment later, practically crushing Jamie with the embrace. His face burns in embarrassment as their mother gushes about her 'darling Jamie,' and he sees Jordie smiling the same small, ghostly smile from the dream.

 

The Stars draft seven others, and he's the only one from British Columbia. There's a Russian and some kids from the Western and Ontario leagues respectively. He looks up all their prospect reports and wonders if they're looking at him too.

Jamie can hear Jordie heckling their mother about making a chocolate cake in celebration. He's got to start eating like a pro, Jordie teases despite the fact that he will undoubtedly devour half of the cake by himself. Jamie turns as soon as he hears his brother enter his bedroom. The black eye is starting to really show without the peas to cover it.

"Listen, I—"

"You lied, Jor. You said—" Jordie closes the door before Jamie's rising voice can escape down to the kitchen and alarm their mother all over again. She'd been so panicked seeing Jamie on top of Jordie, Jordie clutching his face after a hard right from the younger Benn.

"I know," He murmurs low and soothing as he goes to sit on the edge of Jamie's bed. "I thought they would go away for you, and they did, didn't they? For a while, at least."

He grips his desk chair too tight, and his hands ache before he manages to answer without yelling.

"They came back."

"I know." Most all of Jamie's anger melts when Jordie reaches to touch his knee, squeezing just the right amount to let him know 'I'm here' and 'I understand' like he always does, like he knows Jamie needs. He's left only with a wallowing doubt and a rising distress.

"What did you do last night? Why were you there?" It takes Jordie a long moment to answer, and Jamie's leg begins to wiggle anxiously, making Jordie retract his hand and scrub his face a little, searching for a good response.

"They never went away for me, Jame. I learned how to control them, but they never left. And … it only happens with you."

"What do you mean?" He leans forward as Jordie leans back. He looks so vulnerable in that second before he steels himself for Jamie's sake. The roaring of GM Place rings in his ears, loud and clear.

"I mean … I can only … 'walk' into your dreams, and that's what I did last night."

"Walked … ?"

"Into your dream." Jordie nods. "You were so keyed up about the draft, I figured I'd try to help you chill out a little bit."

"By … making me dream about a Canucks game."

"Oh, no, that was your idea. That is, your dream. I just … showed up." He flutters his fingers for effect, but it's lost on Jamie. His head feels stuffy, his mouth dry in shock. Moments turn into minutes and minutes turn into what feels like hours, and Jordie just sits there patiently until Jamie speaks again. The scent of chocolate cake wafts up to the room and fills the static, strained space between them.

"How?" He forces himself to ask, he needs to know. Jordie sighs.

"Jamie, it's a lot to explain—"

"Explain." The word is harsh on his tongue, harsh like his fist was against Jordie's face this morning. All the confusion and stress of this other life he'd been living for the past weeks boils over. All the morning headaches and sweaty palms, waking from a dream about stolen touches or soaring victories. "Were you … did you 'walk' into the other dreams?"

He doesn't specify which, but Jordie knows. He always knows.

"The ones you … can't explain as your own? The ones you 'walked' into?"

Jamie nods stiffly, and Jordie softly says no. Something inside Jamie uncoils, a tension eases.

"I can't. … Unless they're your dreams, I can't, and those dreams were someone else's, not yours."

Their mother calls for them from downstairs, and Jordie tells her they'll be down in a few. He moves back into Jamie's space, his hand back on Jamie's knee, just like how he held Jamie in the dream. He lowers his voice, they're only inches away from each other and the only ones upstairs.

"Remember when we were kids and would dream together?" Jamie doesn't respond at first, still itching with frustration. It feels like betrayal, to be lied to like this. Jordie tries, "We would dream about adventuring and being sports stars, about a whole store filled with chocolate only for us. Remember?" The chocolate one, Jamie recalls even now. It was one of the last times he and Jordie dreamed together, and he woke with a stomach ache and an emptiness in his chest without his brother there with him. He nods just a hair.

"I told you I stopped dreaming because it became too much for you. For me too. The dreams consumed us, we stopped caring about anything else."

Jamie thinks of the other boy. The one whose dreams he has seen, but never quite understood. It was simpler as a kid, wanting freedom and fun and nothing more. But he's turning eighteen soon, and the dreams he saw were vivid and confusing and terrifying, and they left Jamie feeling nauseous when he woke. Truly, the dreams consume. All he had thought of in the days following the dreams of this other boy were the dreams, the boy. The dreams, the boy. His mind became clouded and fuzzy until something, someone had to jar him back into the real world.

He shrinks in on himself, but Jordie just strokes his knee warmly.

"Do you remember when we slept for three straight days because we didn't want to leave the dream?" Jamie looks up at Jordie's soft, sad expression. "Ma cried when we woke, and Pa took me into living room and told me to stop. For your good, Jamie, I had to stop. You had to grow up, you had to …"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but Jamie thinks of a dozen endings for him. Had to suffer? Had to feel alone and abandoned? Had to grow bitter as he was told his dreams — their dreams — were bad, poisonous things?

Jamie pushes Jordie's hand away and stands to leave, but Jordie catches his arm.

"Tonight, Jamie. We'll dream again," he says insistently. "And maybe this time you won't give me a black eye."

 

"How do you do it?" Jamie asks as Jordie shuts down the game system, indicating that it's time for them to sleep. To dream. Jordie hums as he flicks off the TV screen.

"You have to be asleep before me," he explains as he rubs his ankle to ease a week-old soreness. "When I fall asleep, I think of you, about wanting to laugh with you or, as kids, adventure with you. Last night, I just thought about wanting to support you and be there, yknow."

If it were anyone but Jordie, Jamie might flush at the notion of having their undivided attention, but this is Jordie. This is his brother. Jamie looks over at him, examines for perhaps the first time how freckles splash across his nose and cheeks, how his eyes are softer here in the quiet privacy of their house than they ever are outside. Jordie catches him staring, and Jamie looks down at his hands. He remembers seeing his hands in the dream, feeling the calluses and imagining the weight of a stick in his hand. He flexes his fingers and lets his eyes drift closed for a moment.

It takes all of his effort not to focus on the thought of another, far, far away. The memory of Yzerman's retirement tugs at his mind, but he pushes it away as he opens his eyes.

"You'll be there?" He asks, almost inaudible. Jordie nods, and that's all Jamie needs.

 

Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, Jamie shifts minutely in the seat of the canoe to try ridding himself of the uncomfortable feeling of sweat. The sun bears down from high above, and Jamie watches the fishing pole sitting as still as stone, not a single bite. He folds his arms across his knees and leans, exhaling an exhausted swear or two. In the heat of high noon, not a single noise can be heard all across the lake. His head swims, but none of the thoughts come clearly enough to be understood. He rests his damp forehead on his arms and dozes off to the feeling of the boat rocking gently in the lake tides.

His back creaks when he sits upright, seemingly hours later. The sun is still bearing down from high above, and hazily, Jamie wonders how it can still be there if so much time had passed.

"Here—" Jordie hands him a water bottle, sweating like Jamie himself but as cold as can be. He presses it to the back of his neck with a sigh. Jordie's laugh makes the lake come alive. "No, drink it, damnit. You'll get dehydrated."

Jamie cracks the bottle open to drink as the sounds of bugs and boats fill his ears. Distantly, he catches sight of a group of teens playing on the shore, their music but a soft hum from here. Jordie reels in a decently sized pink salmon and grins as it flops and protests to being measured. Jamie watches him toss the salmon back, but the moment its scales break the surface of the water, Jamie lurches toward the side of the boat to follow the fish. Below them, the fish is ten, no, twenty times its original size. Its tail is massive and the flicker of it should rock the canoe from its gentle peace, yet the only movement on the lake is the original ripples of its return. He whips his head around to call out to Jordie, but he is standing suddenly, one foot on the edge of the canoe, balanced precariously. His hand is outstretched,

"Jordie?" Jamie's voice wavers on frightened. The shoreline is too far away, all the noise has been vacuumed out of the air. Glancing, the ripples extend for miles. Jordie opens his palm, motions, and Jamie catches sight of the dirt under his nails and the scar across his thumb from a knife months back.

"It's okay, Jamie. I'm here." A panic swells inside of him as Jamie realizes there's nothing around them but open water. How'd they get here? Why did they go so far out? Where were they to begin with? When no answers come to him, he instinctively looks to Jordie for help, and Jordie smiles a ghost of a smile.

"Jamie," He says, although the wind carries his name miles away. The echo of his voice fills Jamie's head,

"Take my hand."

He reaches—

 

When Jamie was five, he almost drowned. The burning of his lungs, the brine in his eyes. Jamie remembers it now.

Hands are on him, dragging him away from that memory, and he opens his eyes despite the sting to see his brother there before him. He cups Jamie's face, and his mouth is moving as if speaking, but the words are muffled and dull. The hysteria that starts to overwhelm him must be horribly apparent, because it's echoed in Jordie's expression. He runs one hand through Jamie's hair, still saying words that he can't hear and holding his cheek comfortingly.

I can't breathe, Jamie thinks as his head spins and his chest flares with pain. Jordie's yelling now.

 

"Hey—" Jordie mashes his forehead against Jamie's, and for a moment, the pain eases as they share oxygen. How —? Jamie starts to question, but Jordie's voice floods his head.

"—just like when we were kids—" He hears the word dream, dream, dream. It's just a dream, we're dreaming.

"—look at your hands—" He hadn't realized they were clutching Jordie's face, cupping his cheeks in a mirror of Jordie's own movements. He stares at them, pulls one back and see the calluses, the grooves of his fingertips, his gnawed on fingernails.

"—breathe in. You can control the dream—"

He closes his eyes, and inhales deep.

When he looks at Jordie, his brother's grin is wide enough to split the sea they're swimming in. Suddenly, he realizes his ears are clear and his chest feels fine. Jordie's hands are still on him, but Jamie's watching his own hands, turning them over and flexing them just to be sure. This is a dream, he tells himself. This is a dream.

A deep, reverberating sound from far off catches Jamie by surprise, and he turns to see a pod of ninety, no, a hundred foot whales weaving their way along in the distance. He rationalizes that they must be blue whales from their size, but the shape screams humpback. He had no idea they could grow so large. The swishing of tails makes him turn the other way in time to watch a small group of pike rush by he and Jordie. Although small in number, they too, like the humpbacks, are enormous; each is at least the length of Jamie's bedroom.

Jordie's hands never leave him as he glances about the ocean. Each fish that appears is larger than they ought to be. Even the normally tiny minnows are the size of Jamie's forearm. Miraculously, even the predatory fish don't pay any mind to the brothers. They all just swim along as Jamie had wished.

"Think about something in particular." He hears Jordie say as a bass lazily moves by them. "Something that shouldn't be here but can be here, because it's a dream, because you will it so."

Jamie thinks, and he thinks. His mind scurries away the idea of any freshwater species, because even his unconscious mind knows they shouldn't belong and some part of him refuses to let them be here. He tries to think of something innocuous, but what happens is anything but. He hears Jordie inhale sharply as the great white appears before their very eyes.

"Will it away, Jamie. Will it away—!" Jordie hisses frantically, and Jamie squeezes his eyes shut to think of only the shark's disappearance and their safety. The silence that surrounds them when he opens his eyes is haunting, yet somehow pleasant too. They're alone in the ocean, just like they were alone on the surface of the lake. Jordie's hands are on his shoulders, his forehead resting on Jamie's as a laugh bursts forth. The water does not swallow up the noise as it should, but then again, Jamie reminds himself, this is a dream. Nothing is as it should be, only as we will it to be.

He looks at his hands, suddenly exhausted. He hears Jordie speaking, but everything drifts away.

 

 

 


End file.
